


Strength

by AutisticWriter



Series: Autistic Headcanons [4]
Category: The Fast Show
Genre: Ableism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Ron Manager, Bullying, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Male Character, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Long-Term Relationship, M/M, Men Crying, Mocking, Newspapers, One Shot, Outing, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Monty Python, Self-Harm, Slurs, Special Interests, Stimming, Swearing, Violence, meltdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8442031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Tommy has always known Ron is a bit different - but that didn't stop him making friends and falling in love with him. But after Tommy finds out that Ron is autistic, he is determined to get everyone to accept Ron for who he is.





	

**12 th June 1970**

Ron Manager was a strange bloke. Tommy never realised this until the first time he met him, not that long before their first match as rivals. He came across Ron in the pub, sat in the corner with two other blokes from his team, but they didn’t meet until Tommy went into the toilets.

He found Ron stood in the deserted toilets front of a urinal, leaning his forehead against the wall. Tommy stood at the urinal next to him, and saw, closer up, that Ron’s face was screwed up, like he was angry or otherwise stressed. When he undid his zip, however, Ron jumped violently. He turned his head sharply and stared at Tommy with wide eyes.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry,” Tommy said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

Ron didn’t look like he believed him. He sighed slightly, and went and washed his hands. Tommy saw that he was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. As Tommy watched him, he suddenly realised that the man was Ron.

“Are you Ron Manager?” He asked.

“Yes,” Ron said, still focused on washing his hands and not looking at Tommy.

Once he had finished, he joined Ron at the sinks. There was no hot water, and he found his hands getting numb as he rinsed them under the freezing cold water.

“I’m Tommy Stein,” he said. “Aren’t we going to be playing against each other next week?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Are you Scottish?”

Tommy blinked, confused after being asked such a bizarre question. He looked at Ron’s reflection in the mirror, but Ron didn’t look like he was joking.

“Well... yeah,” he said, “I am. But I haven’t lived there in years. Why’d you ask?”

Ron looked awkward, and smiled sheepishly as he mumbled, “No reason.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you next week, then,” Tommy said, wiping his wet hands dry on his trousers (there was no hand drier either).

Ron smiled weakly, and left the toilets without saying anything in reply.

\---

**28 th June 1970**

It had never occurred to Tommy before, but Ron acted strangely on the pitch too. Whilst the ball was away from his goal, Tommy always got bored, and so found himself watching the other players at the of the pitch. He spotted Ron, and saw that his hands were splayed and flapping as he ran around. And whilst Ron was very graceful with the ball, without it he ran rather jerkily, constantly looking seconds from tripping and falling over.

Tommy frowned, confused. Ron’s behaviour was really quite out of character for a footballer. Especially when one member of Tommy’s team scored a goal, and Ron clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes up the moment the crowd started to cheer. This didn’t make any sense; what on Earth was wrong with him?

\---

**9 th October 1970**

A few months after the match, Tommy found himself being invited to be a guest on _Match of the Day._ Soon after he arrived in the greenroom backstage, he saw that Ron was a guest too. Ron was sat on one of the sofas, looking rather nervous. Tommy sank into the armchair opposite, and extended his hand.

“Hello, Ron,” he said, smiling, “fancy seeing you here.”

Ron looked up and stared at his hand for a few seconds, before shaking it. “Hello.”

When he realised Ron wasn’t going to talk, Tommy pulled his book out of his bag and started to read. It was over an hour later when he remembered that Ron was still there.

“I need to go,” Ron mumbled.

Tommy looked across the greenroom and saw Ron staring blankly at the floor. He was bouncing his legs up and down, and he looked tense. Tommy frowned; he had never seen Ron acting like this before.

“What’s the matter, Ron?” He asked.

“I need to leave,” Ron said, and, before Tommy could ask any more questions, Ron hurried out of the room, hunching forwards like he was going to be sick.

\---

Ron was a nightmare on _Match of the Day_. He barely answered any questions on the match the night before, and instead rambled on about things only vaguely related to the question. Tommy could see the presenter getting irritated, and Ron’s behaviour was starting to get on his nerves too. And, even though he felt rather sorry for Ron (who smelled like vomit and was bouncing his legs violently under the desk), Tommy couldn’t help but wish Ron would just sod off.

\---

“Tommy! Tommy!”

Tommy stopped dead as he heard a familiar voice from somewhere behind him. Turning around, he saw Ron hurtling through the studio’s car park towards him, waving his arms frantically. Even though he just wanted to go home, he stood there and waited for Ron to catch up. When Ron reached him, he had to double over for a few seconds, gasping for breath. Then he straightened up and looked at Tommy, his eyes fixed on Tommy’s... forehead? That didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t Ron making eye contact?

“Tommy, I need to talk to you,” Ron said, still out of breath.

“What is it, Ron?” He said. “Didn’t you do enough talking back in the studio?”

Ron didn’t seem to catch this insult, and smiled. “I just wanted to ask you if you want to come around my house on Friday. We can watch telly and have a beer.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. He wanted to tell Ron to sod off, but Ron just looked so expectant that he couldn’t refuse.

“Why not?” He said, forcing himself to smile. “It’ll make a change.”

Ron grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet. “That’s brilliant. Thanks, Tommy.”

\---

**12 th October 1970**

Even though he had his doubts (including doubting he could listen to Ron talking crap for the entire time he would be with him), Tommy got into the back of a taxi on the day Ron had specified, and travelled to Ron’s house. When he arrived, he went up through the messy front garden, and knocked on the door. Ron answered the door immediately; Tommy wondered if he had been waiting on the other side of the door.

“Tommy! You came!” Ron cried, his voice a bit too loud, sounding delighted.

“Hi, Ron,” he said.

“Come in, come in,” Ron said, opening the door wider and letting Tommy into his house.

Tommy quickly noticed how messy Ron’s house was. There was just stuff everywhere. The shelves were cluttered with books, and there were yet more books and a huge stack of vinyl on the floor in the corner.

Tommy sat down on the sofa, and Ron dropped into the armchair opposite him. Ron started humming a tune, and bounced his legs up and down. After a few seconds, Tommy recognised the tune as the theme from _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_.

“You like _Monty Python_?”

Ron grinned and giggled slightly. “Of course I do. I love _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_. It’s my favourite thing ever.”

Tommy smiled. _Monty Python_ wasn’t his all time favourite comedy, but he still liked it a lot. So it probably wasn’t much of a surprise that he and Ron spent the next three hours drinking beer and chatting about the programme and their favourite sketches. But Tommy didn’t mind; to be totally honest, he actually enjoyed himself. And he knew Ron was enjoying himself too.

\---

**12 th February 1971**

Ever since he had been around to Ron’s house, Tommy had been meeting up with him on a regular basis, and he was beginning to find Ron less and less annoying. He wasn’t particularly sure why Ron was annoying him less, but he knew that he actually liked him now. In fact, he was pretty sure that they were now friends. And Tommy was glad to actually have a friend for once.

It wasn’t that Tommy was unpopular, but he had never been that close to the people he considered his friends. It didn’t help that, being gay, he had always been cautious around his male friends, just in case they somehow worked out he was gay and ruined his life. Also, ever since he had started playing professional football, he had encountered the issue of people only wanting to spend time with him because he was famous.

But Ron wasn’t like that. He obviously didn’t care about fame (being even more famous than Tommy himself), and he just seemed genuine about his friendship in his own strange way. It made such a change.

\---

**1 st June 1972**

On Ron’s thirtieth birthday, Tommy was amazed to see on the news that Ron was retiring from football. As soon as the news item finished, he telephoned Ron.

“Hey, Ron, why’re you retiring?” He asked the moment Ron picked up.

“I just... I’m not at my peak anymore... I want to quit while I’m ahead.”

Ron’s voice was odd. It sounded flat and strained, like he was forcing himself to speak.

“Well, that’s a shame, but I understand,” Tommy said. “What—”

“I’m sorry, Tommy, but I don’t like talking on the phone. Can we meet up to talk instead?” Ron babbled, and he put the phone down.

Tommy stood with the phone still by his ear, wondering what that was all about.

\---

**6 th September 1972**

Tommy opened the front door at nine in the evening, and was rather shocked to see Ron stood on the doorstep. And he was even more shocked when he saw how stressed he looked. He looked like he had been crying, and he was flapping his hands the way he always did on the football pitch.

“Ron? Are you all right?” He asked, stepping to the side to let Ron into the house.

Ron walked in without looking at him, his face tense, tears in his eyes. “I’m just so fucking sick of it all, Tom.”

“Sick of what?” He said, trying to sound a lot calmer than he felt.

“Of the way people take the piss out of me. I was at the shops today, and these blokes kept flapping their hands at me and laughing. They followed me everywhere. I told them to fuck off, but they just laughed. I fucking hate them!” Ron yelled, and he kicked Tommy’s sofa; it made a creaking noise, and Tommy wondered if Ron had broken it.

Almost instantly, he grimaced. “That fucking hurt. And, uh, sorry about your sofa, Tommy.”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “Nah, don’t worry about mate. And don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just wankers.”

Ron smiled, but he didn’t stop flapping his hands.

\---

**31 st December 1972**

Tommy next saw Ron at a mutual friend’s New Year’s party. Large parts of the night were blurry (thanks to the amount of alcohol he consumed), but there was one moment that he remembered as though it was yesterday.

As he stared at Ron, who was giggling delightedly at something that wasn’t very funny and bouncing on the balls of his feet instead of actually dancing, Tommy came to the startling conclusion that he fancied Ron.

Confused, dazed and very drunk, Tommy hurried out into the garden, the freezing winter air instantly made him feel much more sober. He just didn’t understand. Yes, he was gay, but that didn’t explain why he would have feelings for his friend. But, as he leaned back against the wall and stared up at the night sky, Tommy knew there was no way he would be telling Ron this fact; he didn’t want this to ruin their friendship.

\---

**26 th January 1973**

To Tommy’s amazement, his feelings for Ron turned out to be reciprocated. But, of course, Ron told him in his own strange way. He got a letter through in the post, and he recognised Ron’s handwriting on the envelope. Wondering what this was going to be about, he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. His eyes widened as he read it, hardly able to believe what he was reading.

_Dear Tommy,_

_This is going to sound very weird, so please don’t judge me if this scares you. So, here’s the thing: I think I’m in love with you. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but I just have to tell you. I love you, Tommy, and, even though you probably aren’t gay, I wanted to tell you how I really feel about you._

_Sorry for making everything awkward. Thank you for reading this._

_Ron_

Tommy read the letter again and again, a smile breaking out across his face. He couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening?

Needing to know if this was a joke or not, Tommy got in the car and drove straight to Ron’s house. He would have just phoned, but he knew Ron hated talking on the phone. His heart was racing, partly from anticipation, and party from fear.

When he arrived, Ron opened the door instantly, as though he had been waiting on the other side of the door. He gave Tommy a nervous smile, and Tommy realised that Ron was as nervous as he was.

“H-Hello, Tommy,” Ron said. “I assume you got my letter.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah, I did.”

“Are you going to hit me?”

Tommy’s eyes widened as he watched Ron visibly tense up, as though expecting a punch. He started flapping his hands and took a step backwards.

“I, I’m sorry, Tommy,” he babbled, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone and I won’t tell anyone and I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore and—”

“Ron, Ron, Ron, calm down!” Tommy said, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only here to check if that letter wasn’t a joke.”

Ron smiled, still flapping his hands. “Really?”

“Aye.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Ron said, his voice still shaking slightly. “I meant it. I just... didn’t know how else to tell you. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

“So... do you want to go out with me?” Tommy asked, his heart racing even faster.

Ron nodded, his face flushing. “Yeah, I do.”

And, just like that, they started a relationship.

\---

**4 th March 1973**

Now he and Ron were a couple, Tommy found himself becoming more and more protective of his partner, getting angry with anyone who laughed at Ron or mimicked him running around the pitch, flapping his hands. Ron seemed to be used to it, but it made Tommy want to hit them, and it was often very difficult not to do just that.

He also found out some of the more startling aspects of Ron’s odd behaviour. As they were now living together, Tommy saw Ron during the evenings, and that, he found, was the time of day were he acted the strangest. He seemed a lot more stressed, getting anxious and panicky and often shutting himself in their bedroom and crying.

But, on this particular night, it was worse than anything else Tommy had ever witnessed before. Ron was out for most of the afternoon at a ‘reunion thing’ (that was exactly how Ron described it, but Tommy knew it was some sort of thing for all the ex-members of Ron’s old football team), and it was dark by the time he finally came home. Almost instantly, Tommy knew there was something seriously wrong.

Ron was flapping his hands like he did when he ran, except he wasn’t running, and he was doing it much more violently. He was sobbing, his hands flapping at the sides of his head, and he didn’t seem to know what he was doing. Tommy didn’t know either; as he stared at Ron, he had to wonder if he had hurt himself. Why else would he be crying?

“Ron?” He said, making his way towards his partner. “What’s the matter?”

Ron flinched as he spoke, flapping his hands harder. Tommy stepped closer, wishing he knew what to do.

“Ron?”

Ron started sobbing louder, and he dropped to his knees. Tommy watched him rock backwards and forwards. Tommy kneeled down in front of him, scared to touch Ron in case it made him worse, but not wanting to just sit here and watch his partner break down. But then, to Tommy’s surprise, Ron reached out and grabbed Tommy around the neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

Shocked, Tommy patted Ron’s back as Ron buried his head into his neck and cried, not knowing what was going on, but glad that, in some way, he could help.

\---

**4 th May 1974**

Tommy and Ron were sat in the living room watching an episode of _The Goodies_ on the television (Tommy loved _The Goodies_ , but, as Tommy was fully aware by now, Ron had always preferred _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_ ) when Ron said the strangest thing.

“People used to call me a spastic, you know,” he said.

“What?!” Tommy spluttered, turning to look at Ron so sharply his neck clicked.

Ron was staring blankly at the floor, his legs beginning to bounce up and down. “I said ‘people used to call me a spastic’. At school, I mean. The other boys called me a spaz and wouldn’t let me play football with them on the games field at lunchtime. Sometimes they would push me over or laugh at me when I got stressed and started crying. I only ended up on the football team because the teachers noticed how good I was in physical education. And, when the headmaster announced to the school that I was being scouted by our local team, someone yelled out, ‘Why’s that spaz got it?’”

Ron finally stopped talking and stared down at his lap. He was rocking in his seat, and looked close to tears. Tommy was totally puzzled, but that didn’t stop him putting his arm around Ron and hugging him tightly, knowing the pressure soothed him. He had no idea why Ron had decided to tell him that now, but he wasn’t going to say that. Instead, he just hugged Ron and told him he was all right.

“And, trust me, Ron, no one’ll ever say that to you again if I can help it,” he said firmly, kissing Ron’s forehead.

Ron smiled, and it looked like he really believed him.

\---

**17 th July 1976**

Tommy awoke with a start as he heard a thud. He sat up sharply and switched on the light, and saw that Ron was sat on the floor beside the bed. He must have fallen out.

“You all right, Ron?” Tommy said, shuffling over to Ron’s side of the bed and looking down at him.

“No,” Ron said flatly, but his voice was shaking.

Now he was closer, Tommy could see Ron was crying, and he was rocking backwards and forwards. He only did both of those things when he was very stressed. Sighing, Tommy got out of bed and joined Ron on the floor.

“What happened?”

“I fell out of bed,” Ron said, wiping his eyes on his pyjama sleeves.

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Tommy said, chuckling slightly. “No, I meant, what’s made you upset.”

Ron’s sweaty face flushed. “I, uh, I had a nightmare.”

Tommy nodded, smiling sadly. “I understand. Well, you’re safe now, Ron. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Ron smiled weakly, and let Tommy grab his wrists and haul him to his feet. Then they both sank onto the bed, Tommy pulling Ron into a hug. Ron was still sniffling, and leaned his head against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Come on, mate, it’s all right.”

After a while, Ron stopped crying. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Sorry,” he said thickly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tommy said firmly as they lay back down. “You can’t help being sad sometimes. And anyway, nightmares are bloody horrible.”

“Yes they certainly are,” Ron agreed, sniffing.

Tommy put his arms around Ron, and held his partner close until Ron finally fell asleep.

\---

**9 th October 1976**

“Fucking hell! Tommy! Come here!”

Tommy came rushing out of the bathroom as he heard Ron’s clearly terrified voice from somewhere downstairs. He dashed down the stairs and found Ron pacing around the hallway, holding an open newspaper in his shaking hands.

“What is it, Ron?” He said. “What’s the matter?”

“Look,” Ron said, throwing the paper at him. Now his hands were free, he started to flap them.

Concerned to see Ron so wound up, Tommy looked down at the page Ron had been looking at. Almost instantly, he saw a headline that made his eyes widen.

**FOOTBALLERS IN HOMOSEXUAL AFFAIR?**

_Bloody hell,_ he thought, knowing this couldn’t be good. Looking further down the page, Tommy’s eyes focused on a photograph of him and Ron. It showed Ron with his arms around his neck, reaching up and giving Tommy a kiss. He remembered that happening – it was only last night. Despite his apprehension, Tommy began to read the article:

**Football player Thomas Stein, 28, and ex-footballer Ronald Manager, 34, were photographed in an intimate embrace last night. The photograph, printed below, was taken at approximately 11:10pm last night, when the pair were leaving a restaurant in North West London. It shows Manager kissing Stein. After the kiss, the pair of them were reported to hold each other’s hands as they walked away.**

**Stein and Manager are both unmarried, and have previously been described semi-seriously as ‘confirmed bachelors’ by reporters and their fellow footballers. Manager caused quite a stir three years ago for describing George Best as ‘gorgeous’, and his repeated insistence that this comment was a joke was not exactly convincing. So this revelation that Manager is in a homosexual relationship may not shock many, but this reporter for one is surprised to find Stein in this situation.**

Tommy couldn’t read any more. Slowly, he looked up at Ron, feeling his stomach clench.

“Shit,” he said.

“I know, isn’t it fucking terrible?” Ron babbled, flapping his hands harder. “Tommy, I’m frightened!”

“Calm down, Ron,” Tommy said, screwing up the newspaper and throwing it over his shoulder.

“I can’t!” Ron cried, and Tommy saw tears in his eyes. “What if Mother sees!” Ron grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him. “WHAT IF MOTHER SEES!”

“Then she sees,” Tommy said, putting his hands on Ron’s arms and squeezing them hard. “We’ll deal with it if it happens, won’t we? Come on, please, calm down.”

Ron hugged him hard, and Tommy rested his chin on Ron’s head. “But, but aren’t you scared?”

“Of course I’m scared, mate,” Tommy said, rubbing Ron’s thick, greasy hair. “But we’ll be all right.”

“No we won’t,” Ron muttered, his hands slapping against Tommy’s back as he flapped them. “We’re fucking screwed.”

Part of Tommy agreed with Ron, but he knew he had to be optimistic. After all, bad things didn’t happen to every openly gay person. He just hoped they were going to be two of the lucky ones.

\---

**12 th October 1976**

Tommy soon found that Ron, the pessimistic one, was right. The first time Tommy left the house since the article was published, he quickly ran into trouble. All he wanted to do was go to the shops to get some milk, but he kept getting distracted. Everyone was staring at him, and not in a good way. They looked disgusted by him. One woman crossed the road as he approached her as though he was going to hurt her. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but Tommy found the whole ordeal rather awful.

Finally, he made it into the grocers, but the ordeal didn’t end there. As he got a bottle of milk out of the refrigerator, he saw a man standing beside him.

“Hello, mate,” the man said, and there was a sharp, unpleasant tone to his voice.

“Hello,” Tommy said, smiling.

“I read that article,” the man said. “I can’t believe it. Not about Ron Manager of course; I’ve always known he was a pansy, but—”

“Shut up!” Tommy snapped. “Don’t you dare call him that! Leave me alone.”

Tommy stormed away from the bastard and went up to the till. The woman behind the till gave him a funny look.

“Is it true?” She said.

“Is what true?”

“You know... the article.”

Tommy sighed. “How much?”

The woman looked irritated, but, thankfully, didn’t carry on. “Forty Pence please.”

Tommy counted out the right change and went to hand it to her. But she kept her hands clamped to her sides, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Just, just put it on the counter,” she said awkwardly.

Tommy stared at her, and then, with a sigh, he put the money down. Grabbing his milk, Tommy hurried out of the shop and ran the entire way home, trying his hardest to ignore the stares.

When he got home, he found himself fighting back tears, and it was Ron’s turn to comfort him. Tommy knew Ron was in his full rights to say ‘I told you do’, but he didn’t. He simply held on tight to Tommy, and Tommy held him back, wishing everyone in the world could be more like Ron.

\---

**11 th December 1976**

The homophobia started out badly, and only got worse. Tommy got up one morning to find the words ‘Fucking Fairies’ sprayed all over the brick wall outside the front of the house, and the next day, someone chucked loads of rubbish over the wall so their garden looked like a tip. Ron came running back through the front gate a few seconds later in a complete panic, and tearfully told Tommy about someone throwing a glass bottle at his head and only just missing. Tommy wished he could just tell the police about all of this, but he was sure that they would be just as bad as all of these bastards.

Today, Tommy was hoping that Ron’s parents wouldn’t join the ever growing number of homophobes who hated the pair of them, as they were visiting them today, and he was sure their attitudes would be made clear very quickly. For Ron, this would be the first time he would see them since the article came out, and, for Tommy, this would be the first time he was ever going to meet them. He wasn’t sure if he would get on with them; from what Ron had told him about his father taking the piss out of him for getting upset easily and flapping his hands, they didn’t sound like the nicest of people. Ron said they had sounded weird on the telephone, but, given that Ron was awful at talking on the phone, Tommy couldn’t take this as evidence of their feelings towards them. So he knew the only real way to find out was to visit them, which was what they were going to do.

Tommy could tell Ron was anxious as they drove all the way to his parents’ house, and he didn’t really know how to reassure him. But he did know a way to distract him.

“Hey, Ron, do you want to tell me your top five _Monty Python_ sketches?” He said, grinning.

Ron smiled slightly, and, even though he was nervous, he launched into a long-winded explanation of which were his favourite sketches and why. He was about halfway through his speech about his top sketch – a series 1 sketch called ‘The Visitors’— when they pulled up on the Managers’ driveway. Ron stopped talking abruptly and stared at the house with wide eyes.

Ron took his hand and squeezed it hard. “I’m scared, Tommy.”

“I know, mate, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Are you?”

“No,” Tommy admitted, “but I know you’ll be all right if I’m here. All right?”

Ron smiled weakly. “All right.”

They went up to the front door and rang the doorbell. After about a minute, the door opened, and Tommy saw his partner’s parents.

“Hello, Ronald, dear,” Ron’s mum said, and she sounded awkward.

“Hello, Mummy,” Ron said, and Tommy saw him tense up as she kissed his cheek; he knew that Ron hated being touched without his consent. “This is Tommy.”

“Hello,” Tommy said, forcing himself to sound cheerful, holding out his hand for her to shake.

“Hello,” Ron’s mother said, and she looked incredibly uncomfortable. Tommy didn’t feel much better. He was already beginning to regret coming here.

And things only got worse.

“I have to ask you, Thomas,” Ron’s father said as they sat at the dinner table. Tommy frowned as he, once again, refused to use Tommy’s nickname, but he didn’t say anything. “What exactly do you find attractive about Ronald? I don’t mean to be rude, but no one else has ever been in a relationship with him before, and I was wondering how you can bear to live with him. From my experience, most people find him annoying.”

Tommy stared at him, not able to believe he had just said that about his own son. He looked at Ron, and saw his partner was staring down at the table, his jaw tightly clenched.

“Well, I don’t find him annoying,” Tommy said, trying his hardest to keep his tone of voice flat. He looked at Ron’s mother instead, and, in an attempt to change the subject, said, “So, Mrs Manager, what did it feel like when Ron got picked to be on a professional team? You must have been so proud. I know my parents were. They bought me a car!” Tommy chuckled slightly, remembering how amazing that day had been.

“To be honest, dear, I was so shocked,” she said. “I didn’t think that anyone would want to take someone who cries at loud noises and runs around flapping their hands.”

“It makes him look like a bloody bird,” Ron’s father added, laughing and flapping his hands like Ron did. “I didn’t think they could take him seriously long enough to even see how good he was.”

“Yes, well, they did, didn’t they?” Tommy said. “They obviously looked past Ron’s funny behaviour and thought ‘bloody hell, he’s a good footballer’ and just looked at his skills instead.”

Tommy knew Ron was bouncing his legs under the table. His partner looked like he was going to cry.

“What are you implying, exactly?” Ron’s father said, and there was a dangerous tone to his voice.

Tommy sighed, wanting to argue with him, but also not wanting to cause a scene.

“Nothing,” he muttered. Ron reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it.

Later on, things got even worse. Once their meal was finished, Tommy and the three Managers ended up in the living room. Tommy and Ron both refused a glass of wine, and Tommy tried to ignore the funny looks they got, because their reasons for not drinking seemed perfectly simple to him. And then Ron’s mother asked the question he had been waiting for (and dreading).

“So, Thomas, dear... have you always been a homosexual? I don’t mean to offend you, but I just don’t know much about homosexuality.”

Tommy stared at her, amazed to have been asked such a fucking weird question. “Um... well... I think I’ve always been gay—”

“Please don’t say ‘gay’,” Ron’s father said, frowning. “I hate that a perfectly innocent word now can’t be used without people laughing.”

“But the meanings of words always change, Daddy,” Ron said, bouncing his legs up and down.

Ron’s father sighed. “I know that, but I still don’t have to be pleased about it.”

“To be honest, dear,” Ron’s mother said. “Reading that article was only partially a shock.”

“How do you mean?” Tommy asked, trying to avoid looking at Ron’s father; he was sure he’d punch the bastard if he did.

“Well, I was surprised to learn that you are homosexual, but I had always wondered if Ronald...”

Ron sighed. “If you’ve always wondered, Mummy, why did you never talk to me about it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “It’s not really the sort of thing you talk about, is it?”

“And while we’re on the subject,” Ron’s father said, raising his voice slightly. “How were you two so stupid to kiss in public and not think people would write an article like this?”

“It was deserted, Daddy!” Ron said indignantly. Tommy saw his hands were trembling; he obviously wanted to flap them, but was too scared. “How were we to know there was a camera?”

“Don’t raise your voice with me, Ronald,” his father said, and Tommy didn’t like the tone of his voice.

Tommy gritted his teeth, and hoped they wouldn’t be staying here much longer.

\---

In the car on their way home, Tommy was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had gone white.

“Are you all right, Tommy?” Ron asked. He was openly flapping his hands now.

“I just don’t know how you lived there for so long,” he said. “It drove me mad being there for three hours!”

“I know,” Ron said sadly. “You just get used to it.”

“Do you?”

Ron shook his head. “No.”

\---

**1 st March 1980**

One day, when he and Ron were hosting a party for their old football friends, Tommy noticed that Ron seemed more stressed than usual. In fact, he looked bloody awful. He became more and more tense, and stopped speaking to everyone. Finally, just when Tommy was about to ask him what was wrong, he seemed to snap.

“Excuse me,” Ron said flatly, and he ran out of the room.

Confused, and rather concerned, Tommy hurried off after him. Tommy didn’t know where he had gone, but assumed he must have been somewhere quiet. Sure enough, he found Ron two floors up in their bedroom.

Ron was pacing back and forth the length of the room, flapping his hands by the sides of his head. His face was screwed up, and he was breathing heavily and jaggedly. But what disturbed Tommy the most was that tears were running down his cheeks. He had only seen Ron this stressed once before, and he knew that was because he was incredibly upset. So he must have been just as distressed now.

“Ron,” he said, keeping his voice soft; he knew Ron’s hearing was really sensitive when he was upset like this.

Ron didn’t seem to notice him. He stumbled across the room and, to Tommy’s horror, began to bang his forehead against the wall.

“Ron! Stop it!” Tommy yelled, running forwards.

He grabbed Ron’s arms and pulled him away from the wall. Ron screamed like he had just been stabbed, and broke free of Tommy’s grip. Still screaming, Ron spun around and lashed out blindly with both of his fists. One smacked against the wall, cutting his knuckles open, and the other—

“Fuck!”

— And the other smacked Tommy in the side of the head, the force throwing Tommy to the floor.

He cried out and curled up on his side, cradling this head. He could faintly hear Ron screaming, but everything sounded dull as his ears rang. His head felt worse than it did the time he smacked his head into a goal post when he mistimed a dive for the football, and that hurt a lot.

Slowly, Tommy forced himself to sit up. He watched Ron cry and scream and rush around the room hitting his hands and his head on the walls, blood running down his hand. Tommy wanted to help him, but his head felt so much, and, even though it was selfish, he didn’t want to get hurt again. Ron’s agonised sobs were horrible to hear, and Tommy felt his eyes stinging as he blinked back tears.

Finally, after what felt like hours but Tommy knew for a fact was only ten minutes, Ron stopped screaming. He sank to the floor and curled up in a ball, his breathes shallow and shuddering. Tommy watched him rock himself from side to side and sob quietly. He seemed to be calming down, but Tommy still wasn’t sure.

“Ron?” He whispered.

Ron opened his eyes and looked at him. His face was red and puffy, and he looked exhausted. His forehead was going red, and Tommy was sure it was going to bruise.

“Tommy?” He whispered back, his voice hoarse from screaming.

“Are you all right?”

“I, I think I am now,” Ron said, but he didn’t sound sure.

“Would you like a hug?”

“Don’t think so. Everything hurts.”

“Fair enough,” Tommy said, not wanting Ron to do anything that might hurt him anymore. “Can I have a look at your hand?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s bleeding.”

Ron looked totally confused, and carefully raised his hand up to his face. Blood was still oozing out of the cut between his knuckles. He chuckled slightly. “So it is.”

Tommy leaned closer to him. “So, can I have a look? I want to check it you’re not too badly hurt.”

“I’ve done it loads of times, Tom,” Ron said. “It’s not a problem.”

“Do you bang your head every time too?” Tommy asked, trying not to think about Ron banging his head against the wall.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “It’s the only way to stop my brain whirring when I’m freaking out. It helps to calm me down.”

Tommy didn’t understand, but he knew now wasn’t the time to question Ron. Ron stared at Tommy’s forehead, and he suddenly looked really nervous.

“Did I hurt you?” Ron asked, as though he didn’t really want to know the answer.

Tommy had learned years ago that lying to Ron didn’t work. So he simply nodded his sore head and said, “Aye, Ron.”

Ron’s face crumpled, and he buried his head in his hands. Tommy, alarmed, leaned even closer.

“Don’t cry, Ron,” he said.

“I hurt you, I hurt you,” Ron mumbled into his hands. “How’d I do it?”

“Your hand hit the side of my head. You didn’t mean to hit me, I was just kind of in the wrong place...”

Tommy trailed off as Ron started to sob. It made his chest hurt to hear Ron cry. He wanted to comfort him, but he knew that hugging Ron wouldn’t help. So he just sat next to his sobbing partner and tried to reassure him. Tommy knew that everyone would be wondering where they were, but he didn’t care. All he cared about at the moment was Ron, and he knew Ron was thinking the same thing.

\----

**10 th March 1997**

Tommy was usually a very patient person (you had to be if you lived with Ron), but, today, his patience was wearing thin. Ron was much more anxious, jumpy and tense than usual, and it was really getting on his nerves. Eventually, he snapped.

“Ron, what is the matter with you today?” Tommy cried in exasperation.

“I, I need to tell you something,” Ron said, his face going red.

Tommy stared at Ron, wondering what the hell he was going to tell him. From the way Ron was acting, it must have been something pretty bad. At least, that was what Tommy thought.

“Well, tell me then,” he said, using all of his self control to not snap at Ron.

He waited for the clearly awful thing that Ron was going to tell him. But, when Ron finally spoke, Tommy was amazed.

“I’ve got Asperger’s Syndrome,” Ron said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I was diagnosed two years ago.”

“Is that autism?” Tommy asked.

Ron nodded. “Yeah. They just call it Asperger’s if you didn’t have a speech delay. So it’s basically just autism, yeah.” He started biting his nails, and glanced quickly at Tommy’s face, his face tensing up. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“It’s just, most people act like it’s a bad thing,” Ron said.

Tommy didn’t know much about autism, but he knew that Ron was right; people tended to treat autistic people dreadfully.

“Aye, they do. But I’m not most people, am I?” Tommy said.

Ron stared at him, and then he smiled. Tommy hadn’t seen him smile like that in a long time. And then Ron pulled him into a painfully tight hug, pressing his head against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Thanks so much, Tommy,” Ron said, and Tommy realised that his partner was crying.

Not knowing what to say, Tommy simply patted Ron on the back, glad that he finally knew why Ron was so different. But it definitely wasn’t a bad reason.

\---

**5 th September 1997**

“Come on, you’ll do great,” Tommy said, his hands firmly gripping Ron’s shoulders. “I know you will.”

“Are you sure?” Ron asked. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and swinging his arms backwards and forwards, clearly anxious.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “You’re going to be talking about something you really care about, and you’re good at talking about stuff like that. And I’ll be right here, and you can leave if you need to. All right?”

Ron nodded, and grabbed Tommy’s hands. He squeezed them tightly, and leaned his forehead against Tommy’s chin. “Thanks, Tom.”

Ron squeezed his hands again, and then walked out onto the stage. Tommy could see him clearly for the wings; he saw his partner tense up as people applauded, the noise clearly causing Ron discomfort.

“Hello,” Ron said into the microphone when the applause stopped. Tommy watched him hold his notes with one hand whilst flapping the other by his leg. “My name is Ron Manager. If you don’t know me, I used to play football in the sixties and early seventies, and, after a spell as a football manager, I seem to have taken up a resident spot in the commentary box.” A few people in the audience tittered; Ron looked a bit confused, but carried on speaking. “But that isn’t what I want to talk about today. I’m here to talk to you about autism, and how to help more autistic people get into sport.”

Tommy smiled; it was funny how Ron only mumbled, waxed lyrical and talked general crap when he was thinking of what to say. If he was just reading a script, he was actually enthralling to listen to. But his speech in itself was interesting enough; the crowd looked interested in what he had to say.

“People have been autistic as long as people have existed,” Ron continued, not flapping his hand as hard. “But it wasn’t until very recently that we started to recognise it. The key factors in autism are: speech and language difficulties, issues with social interaction, and sensory issues. Not every autistic person has all three of these issues, but they are still autistic.

“Autism isn’t a disease, or an illness, nor can it be cured. It’s a developmental disability that you are born with, and you die with. It is part of you. To say you wish someone wasn’t autistic really means you don’t want that person to exist, because without their autism, they won’t be them. They would be a completely different person.

“Autistic people aren’t weirdoes, or spastics—” Tommy winced, and he saw Ron flinch. “They are just people whose brains work a bit differently. And they certainly don’t deserve the amount of prejudice and hatred that they get.

“Now, I’d like to introduce you to Tommy Stein, my wonderful partner, who’ll be talking to you about living with an autistic person.”

As the audience applauded, Tommy walked out onto the stage, and, as he passed Ron, they quickly grasped hands. He watched Ron head off stage, knowing his partner was going to have a rest before he had to speak again. Tommy went up to the podium and pulled his notes out of his pocket.

“Hello,” he said into the microphone, slightly distracted by the flashing cameras at the back of the room. “As Ron said, I’m Tommy Stein, and I’ve had the experience of living with Ron for over twenty years now. We met in 1970 and we started a relationship in 1973. However, I didn’t know that Ron is autistic until sixth months ago. I had always known Ron was different, but I didn’t know why.

“If you watched football fairly regularly in the time Ron was playing, you would probably have seen the way he ran on the pitch. He would flap his hands, something commonly mimicked on _Match of the Day_ or by people who saw Ron in public. They just thought it was funny, but they didn’t understand why he did it, I mean, why he does it. Flapping his hands keeps Ron calm, helps him stay focused. If he didn’t flap, he wouldn’t be able to get through a match without having a meltdown.

“His meltdowns used to scare me, but they don’t bother me now. I know that they need to happen, that that he’ll be all right once it’s over. Living with Ron, or any autistic person, may have its challenges, but doesn’t every relationship? All you need to do to get along with an autistic person is understand how their mind works, and you should get along brilliantly. A lot of people have always called Ron annoying, and, to be honest, he can be rather annoying—” Tommy grinned as the audience laughed “—but, again, isn’t everyone irritating at least some of the time?

“So, yes, Ron can get on my nerves, with his strange routines and often odd behaviour, but that doesn’t matter to. I love Ron Manager, and, without the autism, he wouldn’t be Ron Manager. And whilst his autism may not be the main thing about him, it affects so much of his brain and his personality that he wouldn’t be _him_ without his autism. And I wouldn’t want that. All I want is to live in peace with my partner, and for no one to be homophobic and offensive about Ron’s autism, and for us to just be able to be _us_ , you know...”

The speeches went on for another hour, and, after the interviews and having their photos taken, Tommy and Ron were finally left alone. They sat together in the back of the car, Ron leaning his head against Tommy’s shoulder. He was clearly exhausted, but he was smiling.

“Did you really mean all of the things you said about me?” He asked.

“Aye, I did,” Tommy said.

“Thank you, that was lovely. You’re lovely.”

Tommy chuckled. “Don’t be sappy.”

“I can’t help it. I just can’t believe I’ve got someone like you, Tom. You’re the only person who’s ever...” Ron trailed off, his voice shaking. Tommy looked at him, he realised that he was crying.

“Don’t cry, Ron,” he said, wrapping his arms around Ron.

“Sorry,” Ron said, sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I just can’t believe how lucky I am.”

And, as Tommy rubbed Ron’s back and Ron sobbed into his shoulder, Tommy knew he was incredibly lucky too.


End file.
